


Steve/Tony Gift Exchange: Fire on the Savannah

by MountainRose



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Animal rehabilitation, Casfelldown, Death of an animal, Hydra bastards, M/M, Minor Character Death, Schmoopy Tony is worried, Steve takes his hits like a soldier, Steve/Tony Gift Exchange, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as part of the Steve/Tony Gift Exchange for tumblruser Casfelldown, and inspired by her blog at http://casfelldown.tumblr.com/</p>
<p>"When the tanks roll up the Wakandan savannah, the Avengers answer the threat, and Steve meets someone very, very special, down in the brush."</p>
<p>I hope you like it, my dear!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve/Tony Gift Exchange: Fire on the Savannah

The first time they met T’Challa, it was in New York; the displaced King needed Tony Stark’s ‘World Peace’ agenda to keep the world’s only supply of vibranium out of the weapons market. It was all very civilised, once JARVIS forgave him for breaching the Mansion’s security

After Man-Ape’s arrest and detainment, T’Challa had stayed in Wakanda, but the Avengers had not been forgotten. When they called, the Black Panther came.

It was a good alliance, strong, reciprocal.

So when the tanks rolled up the savannah, and Wakanda needed _them,_ Steve didn’t hesitate to call in the team, and Tony was right behind him.

“Who even _uses_ tanks anymore? That is just asking for a play date with Bruce. He loves tanks!”

“I do not ‘love tanks’, Tony,” Bruce said, barely even slowing Tony down.

“AND! It’s Wakanda, _it’s a walled city_ , you can’t--”

“Beginning sub-orbital trajectory. Prepare for weightlessness.” JARVIS, on the other hand, could and did cut Tony off mid-sentence. The horizon, Steve noted, had gone dark and the Earth blue as they skimmed over the upper atmosphere like a pebble over a pond.

 

XXXXXXXXX

 

Turned out, Tony was right about the tanks; Wakandan bombardment had taken them out with surgical precision. It was the robotic crawlers concealed inside that turned out to be the problem. That, and the Hydra emblem stamped on their angular backs. They heaved themselves out of the burning hulks, unfolding impossibly long legs and shedding smoke and fire. The Avengers didn’t hesitate and tumbled out of the jet, already firing, or smashing.

One after the other, the crawlers fell; broken legs, gutted processors, unconscious pilots, all but one. Smaller, heavier, faster; the last crawler had someone behind the wheel with real skill, and wasn’t giving Steve the opening he needed to get the shield in play.

“Alright, I’ve got this one... Coming in hot, Cap! Move. _Move!”_ Tony yelled, the armor’s jets tearing the air into thunderclap shreds as he dove, hard and fast, with a snarling missile on his tail. Steve leapt out of the way of flailing robotic limbs, ducking and rolling, and Tony speared through the tangle. The trailing missile hit the body of the robot and the thunderous boom knocked Steve back into the brush. There was an ‘oof’ over the comm, then silence which, wow, not like Steve _at all._ “Hey, Cap, you alive? C’mon Steve, talk to me, oh god, I did not just blow up _Captain America._ ”The missiles he’d been running from this whole fight wouldn’t give him a chance to find out and Hawkeye was pinned down, and the ‘jet would be a lost cause if he didn’t--

But then, Hydra minions started tumbling out of cabins and Steve’s shield shot out of the brush. Tony, wisely, cut his mic so he could take a few big breaths and _calm the fuck down_. Steve must have lost his comm, that’s all. _Fuck._

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

Steve rode the shockwave easily, tucked up behind his shield. Landing was a little rough, rattled his brains in the helmet a bit, but it didn’t keep him down. He’d been knocked into a shady, enclosed lump of vegetation, thorny and tough looking, but with good 270 visibility if he put his back to the tr--

_Damn._

There was something in there with him.

She was big and angry, and she had one tiny cub. Steve kept eye contact, because what else can you do when you’re staring down three hundred pounds of feline predator? The silence deafened him when he realised his comm was missing, and the white noise of the fire sounded _so loud_ from inside the utterly insufficient cover of the bushes. Maybe Iron Man would come, maybe he was too busy getting shot at, maybe Steve needed to stand still and present a strong front, and maybe he needed to run like hell. The only thing that moved in that moment, the space of three smoke-filled breaths, was the cub, wobbling and afraid in its mother's shadow.

The moment broke wide open as bullets peppered the leaves; the lion knew that sound, she feared it; he saw the moment righteous rage turned to terror. Her threatening snarl drowned out the gunfire while her breath lasted, but she crouched down, sheltering her cub. It felt wrong, so wrong, that she was looking at him like that, like it was his fault that she was alone in the war-zone, and damn him if he hadn’t seen that same desperation, and fear, in France, three and seventy years before.

Tony called him soft; let him.

He flung the shield with his full strength at the shooters. Too hard maybe; helmets dented in, screaming started up, but Steve couldn’t care. This was _Hydra_ , and it was happening all over again. He moved while the lioness was distracted, looking at the gunfire, and burst out of cover after the shield.

He scooped up it and a dropped pistol and fired, indiscriminately, into Hydra faceplates. There were so _many_ all of a sudden, more than could have been riding in the tanks, all around him and wreathed in smoke and fire. His pistol ran out, and he was down to the shield and his fists. There _was_ no strategy, no commander on the field he could knock out, no goal to thwart, not now that he was there, a shining red-white-and-blue target. Whoever was giving out the orders, they were miles away, watching on some ridiculous computer, playing them all like a game, and Steve _hated_ it.

Because the savannah was burning. The great walled City stood firm, but all around it, fires were spreading and the bullets kept coming: biting and loud and ice and fire and the sound of tearing air.

He was forced back, back and back, towards the one place he didn’t want to be; the den of a furious, innocent, deadly mother. There was just his shield between the hail of lead and their haven, and it was too _small_ ; leaves shredded and wood splintered behind him. The goons lined up around him; more and more muzzles, too many to keep track of fire-reload cycles, too many to dodge them all, so the shield flew again.

He abandoned his defensive stance and slammed into the firing line with all the vengeance of a world war behind him. Heads broke and people _died_ under his fists, on the edge of the shield, but if he stopped for even a moment, there would be a bullet with his blood on. He needed back up, but there was no way to ask for it, he couldn’t even see Tony; too much smoke, not enough time to look.

And then, one shot landed in just the wrong place. There weren’t many gaps in his armor -- it was Tony’s design, and if anyone knew how Steve’s body worked, it was Tony -- but there were some, and the slug blasted in through the space between his bicep and his shoulder.

The bone gave an almighty crack and all the air in his lungs turned stale. Too much pain, too quickly; he faltered, knees going weak and dropping him to the dust. He managed to raise the shield, to protect his face, but it wouldn’t be enough; he was bleeding too much and his arm was broken.

He was going to pass out. Sleep like he had after the crash...

He needed Tony, needed him like a desert needs rain--

In the corner of his eye, where the pain crept in and made things hazy, he saw black boots disappear into the bush behind him. His heart, which had been slowing to go into torpor, raced again, and there was no stopping the explosion of rage and muscle that burst out of the foliage, riding the chest of a dead man. Her claws raked her victim’s stomach and her teeth fixed deep in his throat, but one kill wasn’t enough and twitchy trigger fingers turned proud golden hide bloody.

She fought, and fought _hard_ , and he stayed awake for her, bleeding into the dust, waiting for Tony. She was so beautiful, so proud and sad and, god he was going to pass out any second, but... he needed to see it.

In the end, there was nothing left on that field. Those that didn’t die, ran when Tony’s shining armor roared into sight, and she couldn’t even reach her den to see her cub one last time.

She died, right there in front of him, and he hadn’t cried for someone like that since the train.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“...-- hold on, Steve, I’ve got you, they just need to set it and it’ll be ov--...”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“..--it be alright? I saw him watching, and went back-- _Bruce,_ I couldn’t just _leave it_!”

“I know, Tony, calm down. It’ll be fine; Wakandans know cat biology like you know engineering.”

“...He woke up for a bit, can’t we -- .... -- horse tranqs and -- .... -- _unanesthetized!--_ ” 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Steve had a bad feeling about waking up, he really did, like he’d tried it before and it hadn’t gone well.

But the other option was more painful: dreams of fire and burning fur and there are certain things Captain America _will not sleep through._

Iron Man whining about dust in his armor was not one of these things. Tony Stark crying out in pain _WAS._

His heart rate jumped, his chest expanded massively, and he could feel the stretch in a way that meant it hadn’t done that in a few days.

“...--see what you did? You woke up Mom! He’s going to do the eyebrow and try and-- oh, hey, no. Steve, lie down. _Down._ Thank you. Here, have a kitten. It likes you best anyway. Oh, damn, get over here, you little...”

Steve obeyed the insistent hand pressing him back to the bed, assisted on his way by the throbbing in his arm and head. He was warm, the light said maybe late afternoon, and Tony looked just fine, for all that he had one finger in his mouth. He was like a whirlwind, or a mirage; moving too fast for Steve to keep up and popping up, then disappearing again.

Only one thing was constant, and that was the hand on his chest. Tony was tapping again, a simple one-two rhythm that echoed through Steve’s chest and only fell slightly off-beat with the thumping of his headache. It was faster, less even; Tony’s heart still skipped occasionally and the tapping wasn’t a habit they could get him out of.

Steve realised he was in a strange place, that his brain wasn’t exactly focusing on the important things, when Tony reappeared and the movement of his mouth said he’d been talking the whole time. Steve lifted his good arm and covered Tony’s twitchy fingers gently, swallowing to get his throat going.

“Hey, T’ny.”

“Yeah, hey, hello. How’re you feeling? I’m sorry it hurts, I’m so sorry, Bruce wouldn’t... no, another time, yeah? You’re going to be fine, the bullet hit the artery and then broke the bone, so, lots of bleeding, but it’ll be healed in ten, fifteen days, you’re fine, okay?” Tony looked as desperate as he always did when Steve got hurt, but Steve could handle that; he’d wear himself out pretty soon, now he had made sure Steve was going to wake up. Once Tony was as sleepy as he was exhausted, Steve could just use him as a pillow until the ridiculous, hyperactive brain in his ridiculous curly head finally fell asleep.

“...--oh come on, _please?_ That is a shoe lace. I literally just fed you, come here, you’ll hurt your leg... _Steeeeve_ , your kitten is eating my shoelaces...”

Tony, popping up again from a foray under Steve’s bed, plopped a kitten the size of a small dog on Steve’s chest.

The kitten and Steve stared at each other while Steve’s brain tried to process what was going on.

That... that was not a kitten.

“So, yeah; I uh, saw what happened, and she saved your life Cap, so I guess, by proxy, _my_ life, and I was going to look after her, because, because she was so... yeah, awesome and amazing and I found this little guy next to her.” Steve lifted their combined hands and put them over the cubs back. It lay down and put it’s chin where his star would go and licked it’s whiskers. It’s left foreleg was heavily bandaged and splinted with plastic but it, _he_ , didn’t look like he was in any pain.  “She was... It was too late, but he was just sitting there _crying_ , and you know I can’t _stand_ crying, so I brought him to the Wakandans, well, to _Bruce_ , who then--”

Tony’s thumb brushed over the cub’s forehead slowly, his knuckles shifting under Steve’s palm. It closed its eyes and started making a tiny little huffing sound.

“-- and I remembered a paper, from ages ago, about hospital cats, and I thought... They won’t give you any painkillers, I’m sorry...”

Steve closed his eyes because his arm was broken and, yes, that really really hurt. “How... how bad?” He coughed, because his throat was sticky with disuse, and the cub squeaked in distress.

“I’m sure I answered that one, does your head hurt? How many fingers? No, no, wait, never mind, I get it... come here, you...” Tony scooped the cub back up and settled it against his chest. It settled on his forearm, mouthing at the fleshy bit of his thumb, with it’s injured leg sticking out at a funny angle. “The fire was out by the time you were out of surgery, which was two days ago, by the way; you, sir, have kept me waiting. They’ve got a slash-burn policy, so it didn’t spread away from the ignition sources. Open.”

Steve could admit to feeling sluggish, which wasn’t exactly uncommon around Tony, but he did find himself blinking down at his now-empty hand for an embarrassingly long time. The ice chip Tony was touching to his bottom lip explained where Tony’s hand had gone, though.

“We caught plenty of goons, and the control system from those crawlers is worth another look--”

“His mother...?” His throat felt as bad as his voice sounded, and he could taste the smoke he’d coughed out of his lungs.

Tony paused, a little too long, and Steve pulled his gaze up from the tiny pink tongue licking Tony’s hand. “I... I buried her. She saved your life. I said that already, what am I doing, but she did. You were unconscious and she... I guess she spooked? Or got hit, because when I got there it was all over--”

Memories filtered in, of watching her attack, hearing her roar. It... God, it resonated with every desperate moment he’d ever...

“Hey, no, Steve... don’t do that, ‘Tasha’ll kill me...” Tony’s warm hand pressed against his spasming chest and the angry, grief stricken huffs died down. Tony did something to the side of his bed and then perched on the edge, hunkering down over him, letting him feel the warmth of his body and filling his field of view. He put the cub on Steve’s stomach -- where it mewled and wobbled pathetically on three legs -- and bent his head to kiss Steve’s cheek bones.

“We’ll do right by her, Steve, I promise. He’ll be great; there’s a conservation project in New York that needs more good, strong genes--”

Tony went on, chattering about God-knew what, science and politics and something to do with alliances with Wakanda, but Steve was busy running his fingers over the cub’s shoulder and smoothing down roughed up fur.

Tony was right; the pain seemed less important with that tiny life there, waiting for him to look after it.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“BUCKY! NO! Do NOT do that, what have I told you, get DOWN. DOWN, boy.” Tony whacked the young lion over the nose and Bucky, all long legs and teenage mane, slouched off apologetically. “Yeah, you better be sorry; you do not disrespect Mom’s cooking.”

Tony shook his finger at Bucky and turned back to his bacon pancakes. The lion could have his breakfast _after_ they had finished.

“Since when, exactly, am I the mom?” Steve grumbled, messing up Tony’s hair and wiping paw prints off the edge of the table with a disinfectant rag from inside his apron, which Tony looked at pointedly. “Hey, no, Tony; you’re the one who did midnight feeds and clean dressings.”

“Exactly! I did my turn as mom, now it’s yours,” he replied, mouth half full. Next door, from Bucky’s straw filled den, there was an enormous, put-upon sigh and a rattle as the adolescent lion nosed his bowl around.

Back when Bucky had been tiny, small enough for even Tony to pick up, the vets had told him there was no way he would ever be able to go back to the wild; his foreleg was too badly damaged. Maybe that was a stupid reason to take on the job of raising a Savannah lion, maybe he should have found a professional rehabilitator, but he hadn’t and Steve had never said anything along those lines either. Instead, Steve had named him, they had moved out to the Mansion and Tony had built an enclosure off the back of the house.

Bucky had grown, Tony had made braces for his foreleg, and they’d got him a place at the Bronx Zoo, to replace the old pride male. That, however, was four years away, and in the meantime, Steve and Tony were Bucky’s pride. Once Bucky was fully sized at two years, Tony’d have to be very, very careful with his behavior, but Steve and his supersoldier strength wouldn’t have any problems holding the Alpha position.

“So I take it you want me to feed him?” Steve asked as he sat down at the counter to demolish his own breakfast.

“Steve, sugar-donut, honey-muffin, I am wearing _silk._ As JARVIS repeatedly tells me, you can’t get blood out of silk.”

“Then _change_ ; you haven’t made time for almost a week. BUCK; BREAKFAST!”

Bucky charged back around the corner, bowl abandoned and clanging merrily behind him, and thumped into Steve’s legs. “Yeah, yeah, ya big lump. Off.”

Tony watched with increasing amusement as Bucky rubbed his cheeks all over Steve’s knees and then leaned up to plant a paw on the super soldier’s super hipbone and nose up under his elbow. Steve’s ‘off’ was completely ignored. ‘Breakfast’ was a package of meat and offal that their zoo contact sent up, specially formulated to have enough liver and fat and muscle in the right proportions.

Tony hated it, but would put up with it in his kitchen for the look on Steve’s face when the limping cub galloped into the room. Tony had put his foot down when it came to letting an undomesticated animal into the rest of his mother’s house, but he could give Steve that much, the big softie.

Later, once the gore was gone, Tony chased Bucky around the indoor part of his enclosure with a wet rag, galumphing after him just slow enough that the cub could keep ahead if he was smart. Eventually though, Tony ran out of playtime and dropped Bucky by getting a big handful of the loose skin at the back of the cub’s neck.

He rubbed the reddish tinge out of Bucky’s muzzle, avoided the reciprocating licks Bucky wanted to dish out and gave up the cloth. Bucky had a small collection of them, strewn about the place and shredded into obscurity.

“Good boy, Bucky...”

By the time he was done giving Bucky ‘one last pet, c’mon, its a boring meeting. Oh, I’m sorry, I meant to say ‘board,’ Happy was parked out the front and Steve was giving him an eyebrow worth writing home about.

“Alright, alright, I’m gone! Be good!” He gave Steve a peck on the cheek and left in a whirlwind of paperwork and prototypes.

Steve, standing in a messy kitchen and looking out over a mess of lion-sized scratching posts and playthings, couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.


End file.
